Solomen Miseris Socios Habuisse Doloris
by RaggedyManGoodnight
Summary: A woman that keeps saving him. Her sister, friends with the first face he saw in this incarnation, is seen by him everywhere. "It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery." Starts in Series 7. 11th Doctor. Oswald sisfic. Eventual 12th Doctor. Romance (at some point, no Doctor/Clara though). M for language bc of paranoia. No smut. At all.
1. Prologue

The Doctor knocked on the blue door, the one that eerily matched the colour of his beloved TARDIS.

"Argh I swear if that is more carol singers, I have a water pistol! You don't want to be all wet on a night like this!" An angry Scottish voice called from inside.

"Go get them Amy!" An unfamiliar, feminine cheer encouraged. The door opened sharply and suddenly the Doctor was intimately acquainted with a burst of cold water. The Doctor's eyes trailed from the yellow and red water gun pointed threateningly at him, up the jumper clad arm and finally landed on the face of Amelia Pond, the Girl Who Waited. Her lips had parted in a surprised 'o'.

"Not quite sure how long?" The Doctor used as an excuse, the woman facing him very familiar with how he lost count of the time between their meetings. Ironic, saying he called himself a Time Lord.

"Two years?" Amy answered, the tag question seeming more threatening than an attempt to jog the alien's memory. _Squirt squirt squirt_. Ah. That explains why.

"Okay. Fair point." The Doctor conceded.

"So, you're not dead." Amy deadpanned, the words oddly reminiscent of a companion's in a different story from theirs.

"And a Happy New Year!" Was the Doctor's only reply.

"River told us."

"Well, of course she did." The Doctor murmured, she spoiled all his fun.

"She's a good girl. Well? I'm not going to hug first."

"Nor am I."

The pair, companion and Time Lord, refuse to look at each other. Both are waiting for the other to crack. Unable to keep the façade up any longer, they both falter, laughter spilling from grinning lips as they embrace.

"Mister Pond!" Amy calls inside. "Guess who's joining the three of us for dinner?"

"Whoa. Not dead then?" Rory steps out from the warm interior of the house, a surprised look pasting along his features.

"We've done that." Amy states, nipping the repetition in the bud.

"Oh."

"We're about to have Christmas dinner. Joining us?" Amy asks her old friend, silently he'd stay still long enough to relax for once.

"If it's no trouble." The Doctor replies.

"There's a place set for you." Rory tells him.

"But you didn't know I was coming. Why would you set me a place?"

"Oh, because we always do." Amy jibes sarcastically. "It's Christmas, you moron!"

"Come on." Rory ushers. "We've set you next to Ophelia, you'll love her…"

Amy and Rory go inside, the door still open, waiting for the Time Lord to join them at their console. The Doctor hesitates, he hasn't done domestic since his Tenth body. He touches his face, wiping the water from Amy's gun from his face. Before he realises she didn't hit his face. He was crying happy tears.

His spell of disbelief is broken by a thought. Barging in and closing the door behind him, last words spill onto the street as the light from the house is locked from the snow.

"Wait. Who in the name of Fish Custard is Ophelia?" 


	2. Chapter 1 (Asylum of the Daleks P1)

There was only one word that could be said to describe Ophelia's feelings about the situation she'd been landed in.

"Fuck."

All she had done was visit Amy. Lovely Amy, who had so quickly befriended her when she met her as a newbie on set, trying to gain experience. Angry Amy, who threatened to flay her last boyfriend if he did something Ophelia didn't like. Hurt Amy, who was in the midst of signing the documents that would officially seal the end of Amy and Rory's married life.

Ophelia didn't like how things had ended. The tension between the couple in the last few months carried so much weight it fossilised the plants in their garden. Their arguments poisoned the air with the venom injected into bitter words. But they had been so happy before. So in love… how had that spoiled so quickly?

With papers signed, Rory sped out of the room, trying to put distance between himself and his soon-to-be ex-wife. In his haste to escape her presence that was now enveloped in harsh lights and smoky makeup (not the soft, natural light that he fell in love with) he almost knocked over Ophelia. Throwing an apology over his shoulder, he never faltered in his march. Shaking her head sadly, Ophelia continued into Amy's dressing room.

"Amelia…" Ophelia started, exasperation etched onto her fragile features, the furrow of her dark brow the only wrinkle on her youthful face (she looked far younger than she actually was, a blessing and a curse). She stopped abruptly at the sight of Cassandra the makeup artist with a strange blue-lighted eyepiece extending out of the centre of her forehead. No Amy was in sight.

"Unexpected human presence. Scanning initiated. Identity; Desdemona Ophelia Oswald. Connections to Companions of the Predator. May be beneficial in achieving co-operation." The voice that came out was Cassandra's, but it was stilted and blocky, like each word was being forced out.

"What are you going on about? The Predator? Where's Amy?" Ophelia stumbled back, trying to create distance between her and the makeup artist who was definitely not herself.

Cassandra approached, and Ophelia was greeted by a blinding white light.

* * *

Ophelia studied the bright white circular room she found herself in, noting a standing figure and one sprawled on the ground. Her sight was blurry as she adjusted, but Ophelia could never miss the colour of the standing figure's hair. A ginger brighter than sunflowers. It could only be Amelia Pond. As she focused on the familiar colour, her eyesight snapped into focus. Ophelia rubbed her eyes, trying to quell the sensitivity that caused her to flinch from the light.

"Where are we?" Rory questioned, rising from his position on the floor. He moved quickly to the small window, peering out when Amy didn't answer. Outside was a fleet of very stereotypical circular saucers. Ophelia was still rubbing her eyes, so Amy stalked forward and grabbed her wrist.

"Stop," She ordered. "It won't help you, nutjob."

"So how much trouble are we in?" Rory questioned.

As if his words were some kind of pre-planned queue, the door to their prison rose, and a strange bronze pepper pot slid in, two 'arms' pointed forward like weapons (which they very much may be for all Ophelia knew) and a sort of eyestalk… very much like the one that had sprouted from Cassandra's forehead.

"How much trouble, Mr Pond?" A male voice drawled from behind the Dalek.

A man walked slowly towards them, under escort of the metal pepper pots. He was easily recognisable, a face that for some reason you couldn't ignore in a crowd. His hair flopped over to the left, the abundance of the brown strands making up for the notable lack of brows ("Delicate! They're delicate!" he'd argued to Ophelia). His brows were furrowed over furious green eyes, their very colour flooded with a spark of superior intelligence. High cheekbones, pale skin and a chin that almost put dear Rory's nose to shame. He was clothed in a familiar tweed jacket, a blue striped shirt and navy bow tie. When he turned, a flash of red braces could be seen under the jacket. Straight black trousers clad thin, bowed legs and battered black boots were laced onto spread feet. It had been commented before the condition of his lower half made him appear born to ride horses.

"Out of ten?" The male known as the Doctor asked rhetorically. "Eleven."

The look on his face was grave and fuming. If Ophelia hadn't known this wasn't good before, then she certainly did now.

The ceiling opens and the floor of their holding room rises.

* * *

Ophelia had never seen anything like it. The room was, again, spherical, but on a much, much larger scale. The floor tiered on either side up to a monumental height, every space conceivable filled with more of the copper pepper pots. All eyes were instantly drawn to the massive panels of white light, a ramp leading to a white version of the pepper pot, some kind of podium/control panel and some sort of brown, wrinkly squid creature with a single eye held in a glass chamber. To the right of the party of humanoids stood a blue 1950's Police Box, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the metallic sea.

Ophelia inched closer to Rory as one of the pepper pots smoothly moved past her, not wanting to get too close to something that may look laughable, but holds an air of malevolence.

"Where are we?" Amy asked the Doctor. "A spaceship, right?"

"Not just any spaceship." The Doctor replied. "The Parliament of the Daleks. Be brave."

"Is that what these things are? Daleks?" Ophelia inquired meekly. She remembered when they flocked the skies and threatened her species, those years ago. She was worried; she'd never been outnumbered as much as this before, and had never experienced anything like this. She was a novice whilst her friends were professionals.

"Yes… I'd say I'll fill you in later but as the Daleks and I have never gotten along… there may not be a later." The Doctor was turning slowly, ancient eyes scanning over every nook of the chamber.

"What do we do?" Amy asked,

"Make them remember you." His answer wasn't much, and it didn't settle any nerves. "Well, come on then. You've got me. What are you waiting for?" The Doctor spread his arms, his chest ready to take a fatal blow. "At long last, it's Christmas! Here I am." The Doctor baited his enemies, closing his eyes. His head bowed slightly, preparing to die. After moments too long, the Doctor opens one eye.

"You will save the Daleks." The fleshy tentacle creature orders. The Doctor opens his eyes, turns on the spot to face the creature and drops his arms in disbelief.

"I'll what?"

"You will save the Daleks." It repeats. If this is the Parliament, then that _thing_ must be Prime Minister, as its words start a chant in the room, millions of stilted, tinny voices calling "Save the Daleks! Save the Daleks! Save the Daleks!"

The Doctor is still frozen in disbelief.

"Well, this is new."

* * *

In a hidden room, a young woman, remarkably sharing numerous features with Ophelia such as the shape of her nose and natural hair colour, turns up the Troubadour Song from Carmen as robotic voices outside scream "ENTER" as they try to break in. She curls into her hammock, hands over her ears. A child's attempt to wish the nightmares away.

* * *

In the Parliament, the Doctor is pacing as his previous companions (plus Ophelia) watch. Dalek eyestalks swivel match his pace, keeping an eye on their enemy. Ophelia and Rory watch with brows furrowed, unsure as to the purpose of the Doctor's pacing.

"What's he doing?" Rory asks.

"He's choosing the most defendable area in the room, counted all the Daleks, counted all the exits and now he's calculating the exact distance we're standing apart and starting to worry," Amy explains in one breath, her commentating reminding Ophelia of the commentary of football matches she zoned out of when she was with her last boyfriend. "Oh, and look at him frowning now. Something's wrong with Amy and Rory, and who's going to fix it?" The Doctor's hands move to the bow tie around his neck, steadying him in his thoughts. "And he straightens his bow tie!"

"We have arrived." Announced the white Dalek (Dalek Supreme Ophelia heard the Doctor muttering as he paced particularly close to where she stood, arms folded and hip cocked to one side).

"Arrived where?" Ophelia asked, looking to the faces of her friends to see if they are as confused as her. And despite their experience, they were.

"Yeah, what she said." The Doctor chimed in when it appeared that Dalek Supreme wasn't going to answer the questionings of a petty human.

"Doctor…" The Dalek Prime Minister spoke up. A humanoid female stood forward, drawing attention to herself. Ophelia was surprised she hadn't noticed her before, but then again the sight of the auditorium in which they were stood was so overwhelming that a quiet being shrouded in black can be easily overlooked. The blue light peeking from under her long fringe showed that she was another of the Dalek converts.

"The Prime Minister will speak with you now." She told the Doctor, her voice a blank monotone. The Doctor moved towards the Prime Minister up the ramp, but hesitated when he drew level with the woman.

"Do you remember who you were, before they emptied you out and turned you into their puppet?" He whispered to her.

"My memories are only re-activated if they are required to facilitate deep cover or disguise." She replied in the same tone as before.

"You had a daughter." He told her, a broken, confused look crossing empathetic features.

"I know. I've read my file." With that, it was evident how lost to the Daleks this woman was. She was but a shell. She gestured with her hand for him to continue, which he does after a slight hesitation. He draws cautiously up to the tank of the Prime Minister.

"Well?"

"What do you know of the Dalek Asylum?" The Prime Minister inquires.

"According to legend, you have a dumping ground. A planet where you lock up all the Daleks that go wrong. The battle-scarred, the insane. The ones even you can't control. Which never made any sense to me..." The Doctor informs, turning away.

"Why not?" The Prime Minister implores.

"Because you'd just kill them."

"It is offensive to us to extinguish such divine hatred." The Prime Minister offers as an explanation. The Doctor turns back in disbelief.

"Offensive?" He splutters.

"Does it surprise you to know the Daleks have a concept of beauty?" If he had an eyebrow, it would be raised in challenge. The Doctor seems to understand the challenger without it, as he bends over so they're face-to-face.

"I thought you'd run out of ways to make me sick, but hello again." The Doctor spits in disgust. "You think hatred is beautiful?" He turns, and begins to return to wear his friends wait.

"Perhaps that is why we have never been able to kill you." The Prime Minister calls, the Doctor stopping in his tracks. The words cut too close for comfort.

Luckily, the silence that took over the auditorium is disturbed by the floor underneath where the human stand opening to show a view of their destination – a vast, grey wasteland of a planet, a honeycombed force field encompassing the outside like a protective layer of ozone. Ophelia, Amy and Rory stand around the new window, peering down at the planet of ice and rock as the Doctor joins them, taking Ophelia's right. The woman follows.

"The Asylum." The woman begins. "It occupies the entire planet. Right to the core."

"How many Daleks are in there?" The Doctor asks, slightly uncomfortable with the thought of so many of the insane metal cans in one place.

"A count has not been made. Millions, certainly." The woman dismisses. So much for the beauty of their hatred.

"All still alive?" The Doctor presses.

"It has to be assumed. The Asylum is fully automated - supervision is not required." The woman seemed sure of the infallibility of the prison they'd created.

"Armed?" Amy inquires, raising a perfectly plucked brow in question.

"The Daleks are always armed." The woman informs, the matter-of-fact statement not easing any minds.

"What colour?" Rory asks dumbly, grimacing when all four of his humanoid peers turn to him with blank looks. Ophelia managed to make hers almost as expressionless as the Dalek-woman. "Sorry. There weren't any good questions left."

"This signal is being received from the very heart of the Asylum." The woman changes topic swiftly, bringing up a concern – if Daleks could be concerned. The Habanera from Carmen fills the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing in the empty space above. Ophelia notices the Doctor swaying slightly, moving his hands up as if playing a triangle. She chuckles, the Doctor certainly is eccentric.

"What is that noise? Explain! Explain!" Dalek Supreme demands, unused to hearing the complicated cohesion of instruments.

"It's me." The Doctor states, the start of a goofy little smile setting into his face.

"Sorry what?!" Rory exclaims, not understanding how the whole musical piece could be the Doctor.

"It's me. Playing the triangle." The Doctor simply states. "Okay. I got buried in the mix!" He admits. "Carmen! Lovely show!"

"My sister's favourite opera." Ophelia mentions offhandedly. "She especially loves The Habanera. She's a hopeless romantic."

"Aren't we all, Ophelia?" The Doctor asks, looking straight into her eyes before turning back to topic. "Someone's transmitting this." The Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver, scanning the transmitter in a practiced flick of his wrist. He turned to the Daleks. "Have you considered tracking back the signal and talking to them?"

* * *

"Hello? Hello, Carmen? Hello?" The male voice coming over the transmitter startles the young woman, devoid of intelligent interaction for 363 days.

"Hello?" She replies, hoping she isn't just imagining the occurrence. Wouldn't be the first time. Sometimes she swears she can hear voices calling out, but then they start stumbling over the word eggs and it's over…

"Come in, come in, come in Carmen," The voice insists. Realising this is _real_ ; the young woman practically flies into her seat, grabbing her keyboard.

"Hello, yes, yes, sorry, do you read me?" She replies again, barely containing her excitement. Maybe she's finally get out of here!

"Yes, reading you loud and clear. Identify yourself and report your status."

"Hello! Are you real? Are you actually, properly real?" The woman questions, still believing she must be dreaming.

"Yep, confirmed, actually properly real." The voice banters back.

"Oswin Oswald, Junior Entertainment Manager, Starship Alaska. Current status - crashed and shipwrecked somewhere... not nice." Oswin tilts her head slightly to the side. "Been here a year, rest of the crew missing. Provision's good, but keen to move on."

"Oswald? Maybe a relation of yours, Ophelia?" The voice asks someone on their side, slightly distracted by the coincidence judging by the brief silence. "Anyway, a year? Are you okay? Are you… under attack?" The voice is becoming worried, judging by the rapid fire questions.

"Some local life forms, I've been keeping them out." Oswin assures making it seem a lot better than it was. She didn't want to think back on the first few nights where she was terrified of even the breeze…

"Do you know what those life forms are?"

"I know a Dalek when I hear one, yeah."

"What have been doing, on your own, against the Daleks for a year?!" The voice was a curious one, wasn't he?

"Making soufflés." Oswin tells the voice. Well, she says making… she sent an indiscernible side glance at one of her 'creations'.

"Soufflés?! Against the Daleks? Where do you get the milk?" The voice asks, focusing on something that seems irrelevant to the rest of the room.

"This conversation is irrelevant." Dalek Supreme interrupts, shutting down communications.

"No it isn't!" The Doctor argues, concerned about the lonely woman trapped on the planet.

"No, hello… hello!" Oswin panics, trying to get the signal back by fiddling with the keyboard.

She felt her stomach dropping. She'd just lost the first contact in a year, and perhaps her chance of getting out. Thinking back on the conversation, the name Ophelia seemed familiar. But she had been getting awfully forgetful lately. Just last week she forgot about the eg-eg-eg-eggs...


	3. Chapter 2 (Asylum of the Daleks P2)

**A/N**

 **I know this is a little late, but welcome everyone to Solomen Miseris Socios Habuisse Doloris! (That's a Latin quote from the amazing play Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe, and means 'It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery'… a little dark but I liked it.)**

 **I'd like to thank my first reviewer, Selene! It meant a lot that my first review was so positive, and despite the disappointment with the connections to companions… trust me, that isn't all that Ophelia's going to be good for! That's just the only link that the Daleks are** _ **aware**_ **of, there is more to come! (This update is for you!)**

 **I'd also really love to thank crazywolf like chicken for being my first follower for this story!**

 **Please, please review. It'll help me evolve as a writer to know where I've gone wrong (especially since I have no beta, so all editing is probably biased…) and it really encourages me!**

* * *

"Well… that's an error 404 if I've ever seen one…" Ophelia joked weakly. The looks Amy and Rory gave thoroughly told her it's not the time for her questionable sense of humour.

"Because a Starliner's crashed into your Asylum, and someone's got in. And if someone can get in, then everything can get out... a tsunami of insane Daleks." The Doctor continued after his burst of negation. "Even you don't want that." He reasoned.

"The Asylum must be cleansed." Dalek Supreme deadpanned.

"Then why is it still here? You've got enough firepower on this ship, to blast it out of the sky."

"The Asylum force-field is impenetrable." The woman explained.

"Yeah, doesn't sound like you've tried that before does it?" Ophelia commented, a brief smirk gracing her face before her nerves kicked back in and it faded.

"Indeed," The Doctor nodded at Ophelia. "Turn it off." He remarked

"It can only be turned off from within the Asylum." The woman stated. The situation really was out of the Daleks'… prongs?

"A small task force could sneak through a force-field," The Doctor started, slowly heading back down the ramp from the transmitter pedestal. "Send in a couple of Daleks..." He stops abruptly, a humoured smiled curling his lips. "Oh! Oh, that's good. That's brilliant." He applauds mockingly. "You're all too scared to go down there! Not one of you will go! So tell me - what do the Daleks do when they're too scared?"

"The Predator of the Daleks will be deployed." Dalek Supreme reveals, not reacting to the Doctor's jibes. His eyestalk travels up and down the Doctor's face. The Doctor frowns.

"You don't have a predator. And even if you did, why would they turn off a force-field for you?" The Doctor asks, confused. He'd never come across this 'Dalek Predator' in all of his travels.

"Because you will have no other means of escape." The Prime Minister informs, surprisingly smugly for a Dalek. Ophelia's eyes widen and a small gasp leaves shock-parted lips. This bumbling alien, a Predator? The Doctor looks back at her, frown deepening as realisation hasn't hit him yet. They obviously hadn't seen the man that sat next to her at Christmas dinner.

"May I clarify... The Predator is the Daleks' word for you." The Dalek-woman enlightens the bamboozled Time Lord.

"Me?! Me?!" He can't believe that the Daleks take him as such a huge threat.

The woman changes the subject, that thread of conversation not getting the Daleks what they want. "You will need this. It will protect you from the Nano-cloud."

Two more of the Dalek's 'puppets' (male this time) literally appeared from no where and snapped a silver wristband with a large, spherical blue light facing outwards onto his wrist. The light turns on when the clasp closes.

"The what? The nano-what?" The Doctor hasn't ever heard of this 'Nan-cloud', but it doesn't sound particularly safe.

The two men grab the Doctor, one on each arm, and drag him reluctantly to where Amy, Rory and Ophelia stand defensively.

"The gravity beam will convey you close to the source of the transmission," The woman begins debriefing the reluctant team. "You must find a way to deactivate the force-field from there." A bright pillar of white light rushes up from the floor, very similar to the ones that brought the quartet to the Parliament of the Daleks. Ophelia squints and looks away, cursing the photosensitivity of her eyes.

"You're going to fire me at a planet?" The Doctor starts in disbelief. "That's your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?"

"In fairness, that is slightly your MO." Rory shrugs. It felt like that's how most of their adventured went.

"Don't be fair to the Daleks when they're firing me at a planet!" The Doctor groans back, before realising something, a nodding his head to his companions. "What do you want with them?!" More bands are strapped into the wrists of Ophelia, Amy, and Rory.

"You just had to say something." Ophelia mutters, fiddling with the band as it dug into the delicate flesh of her wrist. Her wrists were incredibly small, so hers had been pulled tighter to compensate… a little too tight.

"It is known that the Doctor requires companions." Dalek Supreme stated.

"Oh, Brilliant. Good-oh!" Rory's sarcasm made Ophelia feel a little better.

"Don't worry, we'll get through this I promise. Don't be scared." The Doctor whispered, though the words didn't have the comforting effect he was going for when he was still being held in place by the Dalek-men.

"Scared? Who's scared? Geronimo." Amy answered, a familiar cocky grin tugging at her features.

"Me. A little bit." Ophelia corrected with a shrug. The Doctor only chuckled as the Dalek-men pushed him towards the beam.

"Oi!" He complained. Amy, Rory and Ophelia were soon pushed after, screaming in either exhilaration or fear. Rory was the last to go down… and had ended up upside down in the beam.

"Wrong way up! Wrong way up!" He shouted as he flapped his arms, trying desperately to turn the right way. The other three watched him go in surprise.

"RORY!" Amy screamed, reaching forward to grab his ankle but he slid past, travelling faster and faster.

Then, the four of them separated.

* * *

Ophelia quickly found herself face-first in a pile of snow.

"I really didn't dress for this weather…" She muttered as she sat up, cursing that the only time the weather was decent in England she had to end up on frozen tundra. The lace blazer she wore would literally do nothing to keep her warm, especially as she only wore a thin cream blouse underneath, tucked into high-waisted black skinny jeans that weren't massive on flexibility. Her brown, pointed toe leather ankle boots would keep the damp snow from her toes but the slight heel and solid, slippery sole would not help her lacking balance. Overall, Ophelia was fucked. Last time fashion came first.

Ophelia wiped snow from her face, taking care around her eyes so as not to accidentally smudge her gel eyeliner wings. Shaking her hair, she hoped that the grey-dyed ends of her bob didn't leak colour onto her blouse. She'd barely got the natural brown ends re-bleached and dip dyed this colour the day before.

Looking around, she realised she was on top of one of the ledges that lead to slippery slopes. She went to the edge and looked down, she was around half way up the incline, and she could see two dark figures pacing around the bottom. The flash of ginger that accompanied one of them told Ophelia it was her companions... but where was the third? She watched as they went down into some sort of hatch, with another figure shrouded in white.

The youngest Oswald knew she needed to find a way down, but walking would be too slow and too risky in her boots. Her eyes flickered back and forth over the ledge, before finding a long slat of rock (as wide as two of her and about half a foot longer – not hard to achieve at her height of 5"4') on the edge, smooth on one side with a little bit of a notch at the front, too small to hold onto but…

Ophelia strode towards it, removing fashion scarf from where it sat draped over her shoulders, a spark of inspiration lighting blue eyes.

* * *

"HOLY SHIIIIIIIT" Ophelia screamed as she slid down the snowy slope on the top of the rock, her scarf looped and tied over the notch to provide a handhold.

Her screams paved her way down the slope, and were so loud even the Doctor and Amy (just about to realise the danger of the dead bodies in the pod) could hear her.

"What's that?" Amy asked, side glancing at the Doctor. Without another word, the alien sprung up the ladder, and climbed out of the hatch. Moving forward, he turned with every step, attempting to find the source of the scream.

"WATCH OUT!" A feminine voice warned, just before a small body was flung at the Doctor's back, crashing them both into the snow.

The body on top of the Doctor's shifted slightly, before rolling to the side.

"Sorry, Doctor…" Ophelia apologized. "Turns out rocks don't have very good steering…" She muttered as she laid spread-eagled, panting from exertion and adrenaline.

"Rock..?" The Doctor wonders, raising onto his hands and looks behind, finding Ophelia's transportation with added scarf. "Ha! That's brilliant! That's actually brilliant!" The Doctor jumps to his feet and wanders towards it, admiring the 'vehicle' "Oh Amy was right." He exclaimed, turning back around to where Ophelia still lay, running forward and extending a large hand.

"Right about what?" She asked, grasping the offered hand in her own chilled one.

"That I am going to love you," He told her, tugging on their joint limbs and pulling her up into his arms, setting both (now free) hands on her shoulders. "Desdemona Ophelia Oswald." The Doctor leaned forward, lips gently pressing against her fringe-covered forehead. He closed his eyes as the scent of shampoo invaded his nostrils. She didn't smell like annoying perfumed shampoos that came in every type of flower or fruit, but like clean salon shampoo (TRESemme, he believed it was) with a faint undertone of hair dye. Ophelia leaned into the warmth the Doctor exuded like a heater, feeling ever so chilled…

"DOCTOR." A Scottish call to attention rang from inside the pod, and the two quickly separated. The hurried into the hatch, moving quickly to find out what Amy was calling them for.

Both faces flushed, but only one could excuse it really as windburn.

* * *

"Doctor, you said living _or_ dead didn't you?" The ginger worried, eyes flickering over the desiccated bodies that sat in the pod. She smiled lightly at Ophelia and rubbed her hand on the other girl's shoulder in greeting, before turning back to the Time Lord with the answers.

"What happened here, what is Amy talking about, 'living or dead'?" Ophelia asked.

"Well, the reason for these charming bracelets," The Doctor gestured to band that still cut into Ophelia's wrist. "Is to protect us from the nano-cloud. Without them, any organic matter will be converted into a Dalek puppet, living or… dead…" The Doctor trailed off, finally understanding what Amy was getting at. "Oh dear."

The Doctor jumps into action, jumping across the seats and kicking at the bodies to clear a safe path for his companions. Ophelia stood, frozen in horror, only following due to Amy's bruising grip on the wrist that held the Dalek bracelet. Amy quickly pushed Ophelia through the door ahead of her, but one body manages to grab Amy by the arm as they pass through the door.

"AMY!" Ophelia shouts, worried for her friend. The Doctor pulls her free and slams the door shut, locking it. The trio lean against it, panting heavily. Amy grins.

"Is it bad that I've _really_ missed this?" She wonders aloud.

"Yes." The Doctor answers, his own grin lighting his features.

"Good."

"I know."

"Erm, sorry to interrupt this lovely moment…" Ophelia starts shakily. "But is this a bad time to mention I have really bad kinemortophobia?"

The pair turn towards her, noting the shaking of the shorter woman and the blood that seemed to have drained from previously flushed cheeks.

"Well, that's inconvenient." The Doctor mutters, placing a hand on her shoulder and drawing the scared woman closer. "But we can work on it." He reassured, rubbing his hand up and down her shoulder, his arm looped around her back.

Amy watches, her grin melting into a smug smile. She loved it when she was right.


End file.
